


Need

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: After a secret mission abroad, Ross Poldark returns home to his wife. (Post series 5, episode 8 fanfiction)





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Winston Graham wrote many lovely--and emotionally complicated--reunions between Ross & Demelza (since, over the years, Ross was often away). Here is a rehash of WG’s words and ideas, mixed with my own feeble imaginings of what such a reunion might feel like after Ross’s first “secret” mission abroad.

“Might I offer you s’more, Papa?” Her grey eyes demurely lowered, Clowance rose and cautiously approached her father at table. She didn’t quite curtsy but clearly had considered it. Recently she’d begun taking instruction on becoming a proper young lady, and at least for this evening, was taking her lessons quite seriously.

Ross twisted his face in dramatic contemplation, then closed his eyes and sighed loudly.

“I believe…” he began, then paused for effect.

“Yes, Papa?” Jeremy asked eagerly.

“I believe I couldn’t possibly eat another morsel!” he declared and reached to tousel his son’s head, then pulled his daughter into an embrace. She immediately abandoned the stiff pretense she’d assumed while serving him, and wrapped her arms around Ross’s neck, pressing a jammy kiss into his cheek. At their father’s lightheartedness, Clowance and Jeremy both let loose a torrent of giggles; they were pleased to have their papa home again after such a prolonged absence.

“Ne’er ‘eard you say that before, Cap’n,” Prudie muttered and began to clear away the dishes from the dinner table. But she too was smiling, relieved to have all her Poldarks under one roof again. 

Only Demelza was quiet. Then, watching her family’s cheer grow more boisterous, she seemed to shake herself from her meditation and rose with a gentle smile to assist their servant.

Ross Poldark had only returned to Nampara that very morning, after being away for nine weeks at the behest of the Crown--on a mission of great import and even greater secrecy. And in the hours he’d been home, his wife had fed him three meals, gave him twice as many kisses, and fussed over his weight close to a dozen times. So he did feel welcomed and he knew he’d been missed. 

But curiously, Demelza hadn’t really _ said _all that much to him nor had she sought him alone. She offered no dusky whispers nor fevered declarations of her love, nothing past the polite greetings and friendly attentiveness one might extend a neighbour or visiting relation.

Surely she’d grown accustomed to his absences by now. They’d long since established a routine in the years Ross had traveled between Cornwall and London, discharging his duties as MP. 

The first day back home was usually fraught with excitement and endless chatter--and might even have its awkward moments. The children, who often slept with Demelza when Ross was away, would sulkingly return to their own chambers while their parents would sit together late into the night, catching up, exchanging news. 

Eventually Demelza and Ross, unable to restrain themselves any longer, would retire to their bed and make love with a hungry but tender passion until sleep took them. And when they awoke, entangled in each other’s arms and closer than ever, it would be as though they’d never been apart.

So this time--was she really that indifferent to his return? Perhaps not.

Ross suspected the difference was due to the nature of the mission he’d just undertaken. He couldn’t speak of the dangers--and wouldn’t even if allowed--so Demelza was left to imagine the worst. And since his ultimate destination was confidential, there had been no letters between them, no attempts to keep the other abreast of day to day events or share any stirrings of the heart. This had been a silent and lonely nine weeks for them both and now they’d need to slowly feel their way back to one another--to the breezy conversations and easy companionship that surely had not been lost forever.

Ross knew he could take Demelza upstairs at once and force the issue--but he didn’t want to go that route. He had pride--and he’d learned from past mistakes. No, he was confident he’d finally honed the necessary subtleties to coax her back to him. 

When the children had scampered off, leaving him alone with Demelza, Ross made his move.

“I’d suggest you walk with me, my love, but I suppose you may be weary,” he said, glancing at the round belly that swelled just below her laced caraco. 

“Nay Ross. I’ve been itchin’ to get out for days but …” she paused and glanced up at him cautiously. His dark eyes--tender, vulnerable--encouraged her to continue. “I can’t always spare a moment.” She lowered her gaze again. She hadn’t meant it to shame him. She wore no martyr’s mantle nor was it her nature to call attention to the responsibilities she bore.

Still the truth hit home and he nodded, earnestly, as it he took it in.

“Well, you can now,” he said firmly, perhaps wanting to reinsert his authority into his home. “Prudie has things under control this evening and I dare say, our children are more than well trained.”

“Indeed, Ross, they’ve grown that clever,” she sighed, taking up her shawl. She needed no further entreaty to join him; fresh sea air was always something she welcomed. “Did you know Clowance can bake a pie from start to finish, all by herself now, with no help at all?”

“Can she? But surely not yet as good as one of yours,” Ross replied with a smile--a weak attempt at flattery perhaps but truthful all the same. Demelza’s cooking was definitely something he missed whilst away.

“Well you ate it tonight and remained unawares!” she laughed. It was sharp, almost accusing, but a laugh all the same. 

He only smiled again then took her hand to lead her towards the door.

“She did seem to take an interest in my appetite tonight, didn’t she?” he continued as they made their way through the yard. He’d happily be the butt of their jokes if it meant they were thinking of him.

“Clowance is perceptive and kind but knows her own mind...” Demelza went on.

“Like her mother…” Ross interrupted.

“An’ Jeremy….he is, I b'lieve the term is ‘mechanical minded’?”

“Like my father,” Ross mused.

“Really? Let’s hope he don't grow to be a wastrel too!“

“I doubt it. Jeremy’s had much firmer guidance to keep him in line and more love to soften any edges. From you, my dear.” He squeezed her hand. “No, he and Clowance both are their own selves, not shabby copies of old Poldarks or Carnes. And this one? How is your newest little friend?” he dared to inquire. 

He almost felt as though he had no right to ask, after so many weeks away. Had something--anything--gone amiss, it would have been Demelza’s burden alone to shoulder. 

“Dwight is satisfied when he comes by to feel my pulse or check my tongue. This one’s movin’ all the time, hardly ever still--but I find that comfortin’,” she replied. “Maybe she’ll be a dancer.” Already growing familiar with the contours of the child she’d not yet met, she rested an open palm on her swell.

“You think it a girl, then?” Ross asked.

“Well we’ve had two daughters and one son, so if patterns tell us anythin’, it’s time for another boy. Nonetheless, I can’t help thinkin’...well, it don't matter what I think...” Again she turned more contemplative. Ross read her hesitation and tenderly wove her fingers in his.

“The others are growin’ so fast, Ross. You should see, between lessons, Jeremy is drawin’ all the time these days. I got him some paper but he uses whatever scraps he can find--newspaper, parcel wrappin’s, anythin’ really. Just sketches of this and that--sometimes plants or animals, other times machines and gears. He talks to Zacky a fair bit too, tryin’ to understan’ the family trade, I suppose.”

“It will all be his some day...Good god, I’ve missed so much!” Ross muttered, cursing himself. 

“Ross…” Demelza soothed. She needn’t say anything more--he knew he had no business chastising himself aloud for his absence. That had been his choice.

They walked on, hand clasped tightly in hand, until they approached the cliffs above Hendrawna Beach. On the slope beyond, sea grass rustled in the evening breeze, urging them onward. 

It was then Ross noticed, that in his eagerness to be home, to be with Demelza, he’d been striding a full pace ahead of her, as though he was pulling her along the path. He must take care to slow down--to take into account her waning energy stores, the extra weight she now carried. Ross had to relearn to match another's step--he was no longer alone.

“My love, I apologise,” he mumbled.

“For what? I’m the one who's sorry to be waddlin’ like a duck,” she said.

“My favourite duck, all fluffy in her feathers.” He kissed her hand. “You’re nesting.” Only a flicker of a smile came to her lips.

“Are you sayin’ I’m broodin’?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said and waited for her reply. None came.

In the past he would have left it--assumed there was some bitterness between them that must remain unspoken, something unbreachable. But he’d learned.

“Demelza, I want to say something to you. Look at me,” he stopped and moved close enough to brush the stray curls away from her eyes. “Since I’ve returned, you seem a trifle...formal.”

“You find me a cold wife? Distant?” she offered, traces of fretfulness laced her words despite her attempts to disguise them.

“No, not cold. But guarded, cautious.” He paused, allowing his rich tone, his care, to permeate the moment. It was not an accusation but an observation. “And yet I suspect, Demelza, that you are not on guard from me but rather from yourself.”

She looked at him quizzically then closed her eyes. After a long pause, she squeezed his hand and exhaled slowly. Then she dared to look up into his eyes again as ordered.

“Yes Ross, I’m afeared to say how much it do mean to me to have you back, for I know it will make it all the harder to face the loss of you yet again. And surely I must…”

“Shh, my love,” he said and pulled her into an embrace. “That’s the future. I’m here now, tonight,” he whispered.

“But in a fortnight? A month? Oh Ross, what purpose is there to ever admit I need you if I can’t have you?” she cried. 

He read the distress, the anguish she’d all day been fighting to contain. 

“Every mornin’ I wake and begin tellin’ myself cheerin’ thoughts. That I’m able and I can manage. I remind myself that I have the help of good folk and family ‘round me--I do know I’m not alone. And if I _ pretend _ I don’t need you, Ross, then maybe it almost feels possible to keep movin’...But when I stop to think of how, despite my will, despite my efforts, I still need you, Ross, then it becomes too much,” she continued, “If I dwell on those thoughts--that pain--then I won't be able to…”

“Be able to go on. I feel the same, each day, Demelza, when I’m without you. The want of you is understandable--predictable--but the need is unbearable.”

“Ross?” she asked, “You need..._ me?_” It wasn’t insecurity that fueled the question, just surprise.

“I do, my love. Always.” They were quiet again for a moment as she thought this over.

“Of course, it’s to be expected there are certain comforts a wife offers that you might need…” she said.

“Well yes but…”

“But surely you could find some nice fat French girl to ease your worries there. T’would help with your cover, no doubt, to take up with someone local?”

“Even in the name of King and country, there are some lines that won’t be crossed,” he said sharply. “And I certainly never did say I was dispatched to France--you mustn’t let your imagination take hold of you. No, I was going to say, it’s your companionship, your counsel I need most.”

“You need me to tell you when to foolishly jump from some great height and when to fire your pistol?” she teased. He appreciated the gesture. The playful banter signaled she was softening, more at ease in his presence. Exactly how they’d been with one another for years.

“No, thankfully my soldier’s instinct still works in those instances,” he replied.

“Until one day it don’t,” she said and bit her lip. 

He knew she was right. He was an experienced enough gambler to acknowledge that just because he’d had good fortune thus far, didn’t mean his luck would always continue. He held her tighter to him and grazed his lips against her forehead until he found just the right spot to kiss, between her brow and her temple.

“What if I assured you I never take unnecessary risks…” he said, as they continued their walk, arm in arm.

“I know you believe it in your heart, Ross,” she said softly, “but please don’t say it.” 

No, she wouldn’t want him to lie to her or to himself.

“Demelza, when I am away from you, away from home, whether it is abroad or in Westminster, I am constantly reminded of how you are the better part of me, about how much of human nature I have learned from you. When I need to reprimand someone under my command or worse--correct someone above me, I think of your perceptiveness and the artful ways in which you manage to persuade the most difficult of men.”

“Like you?”

“Like me,” he laughed. “I even try your words sometimes but have found most baronets and even some colonels aren’t overly fond of the term ‘_Judas_’...”

“Ross, you never!” she began, then saw he was playing too. She laughed then grew quiet again as they continued their stroll. “Let's stop here,” she said after a few minutes.

“Are you tired, my love?”

“No more so than usual. Nay, Ross, I want to look out over the sea.”

He breathed deeply. The smell of sea air would forever remind him of home, of her. On this last mission, when finally they’d returned to port and were about to sail back to Cornwall, Ross had inhaled the rich scent off the water. Only then did he allow his beloved Demelza to creep into his thoughts. Yes, in order to survive without her, he’d had to pretend too. But no longer.

“The sea--t’is a constant, is it not?” she said dreamily. “How many times have we come here and looked upon it, together or alone? In times of hope and in times of strife? And no matter what comes of us, it don’t change, do it, Ross? Do you reckon it's looked the same for a hundred years?”

“Perhaps a thousand,” he countered.

“And will it remain that way another thousand?”

“Until someone builds another mine or French ships come into our harbours.” He tried not to sound sour.

“Ross, is there a chance of that danger?” She pressed herself against him again, resting her cheek on his coat.

He cradled her head with his broad hand and encouraged her to lean on him. He wanted to take as much weight from her as he could. If he thought she’d allow it--and she never would--he’d carry her home.

“Maybe but neither are imminent,” he said. “But there is more of a risk that one might fall into a mineshaft, or take ill from eating spoiled bacon…”

Instinctively, she put his hand to her belly. Neither dared speak of the danger that lay just months ahead of her.

“What do you always you tell me, Demelza? We are hostages to our fate?”

“And so this is our fate, is is not, Ross? To sometimes be apart and always be longin’...”

“But sometimes be together--so let’s make sure that in those fortunate moments, there is no longing…” he replied.

“Are you...longin’ now?” she asked softly, then pulled his dark head down to hers. She brushed her lips against his face and once she found her mark, closed on his mouth. 

“My love, I need you,” Ross whispered without pulling away from her kiss. 

“And I you, Ross,” she replied. 


End file.
